The Game Is Never Over
by Check it bonsly
Summary: Sequel to 'I Was Faking Too', Sherlock's game with Moriarty continues, and this time more than just a random hostage will be at stake.
1. Chapter 1

**A/n: And so the game continues! Yep, I decided that it'd be best to have this as a separate story.  
Also, a very long chapter to start off with! (A side note: this will probably make more sense if you read I Was Faking Too, but you could probably work out what's going on anyway.)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"What do you mean?" Sherlock hoped that he was misunderstanding Moriarty's words, but knew it was unlikely.

"Exactly what I said!" Moriarty laughed, swinging back and forth on his heels as he did so. "We're not done here."

His look had turned menacing at this, smirking darkly. He turned to leave, walking off slowly. "I'll give you the details later." He said, waving lazily at Sherlock, who stood behind him, as he did so.

* * *

Sherlock sat back in his flat, crouched in his seat, fingertips pressed together as he thought. John was still at his own home, having opted to stay with Mary for the time being. Of course, he didn't want to inconvenience his friend or annoy him, but solving crimes on his own just wasn't as fun.

He was sat listlessly for hours, waiting until the next message came, bringing a new case with it. Eventually the phone buzzed, indicating an ending to the boredom. He jumped into action at this noise, scrambling for his phone. Quickly opening the text, an image was revealed. A house was shown, number 38, although the actual street name was unclear.

"For God's sake..." Sherlock recalled his mental map of London, searching through the street names and trying to locate the correct one. After a few minutes of searching he managed to find the right one, and sped out of the door to go investigate it. On the way there, he pulled out his phone for a quick bit of research into the house and its owner.

* * *

The door to the house of one Ed Lanton was open, so Sherlock entered with slight trepidation. He walked into the hall, and seeing no one, continued into the living room. He swung the door open and stared at the scene.

A man lay on the floor, on his back. A pool of blood seeped out from beneath him, staining the carpet. He looked around the room, finding nothing else of note to do with the murder, then turned his attention to the, quite frankly disturbing, most obvious detail.

The man was wearing a mask. Of John's face.

It was at this point that Sherlock felt the buzz in his pocket signalling another text. He jumped slightly at the noise, reaching for the phone to read the message.

_Just a heads up, the mask hasn't got anything to do with the murder. -JM_

_And if I were you, I'd get rid of it before the police arrive. -JM_

The underlying permission to enlist help from Scotland Yard was noted, as Sherlock sent his own message.

_There's been a murder, Moriarty based. -SH_

The text was sent and replied to in the usual speed. 'Still hasn't got anything better to do.'

_Okay, I'm on my way. Where is it? -Greg_

* * *

It had taken half an hour for the usual crew to turn up, in which time Sherlock had disposed of the mask and then seated himself on a chair to twiddle his thumbs.

"Finally here I see," Sherlock watched them pile into the room, carefully avoiding the body.

"Yeah, yeah. Traffic." Greg excused, crouching in front of the body, nearly stepping in the blood as he did so. "So?"

The question, asking Sherlock's opinion on the scene, went unanswered for a while as the detective got up slowly, taking his time in examining the body. "Well..." He refrained from going with the obvious 'he's dead' and started describing the less easily seen details.

"It happened sometime around midnight. He was stabbed in the back, but he landed on his back, and the way he's lying indicates that he was stabbed from the front by someone reaching around. Quite the useless exercise, if you're going at someone with a knife you should probably just go from the front- or the back, I suppose- and stab them there, but the lack of signs of any struggling indicates that this was someone he knew and trusted, so it was probably pre-planned too. The backstabbing was probably some kind of symbolism, people do that sometimes- though only if they're particularly stupid- and an act of revenge, too." Sherlock deduced, not bothering to go into detail about any other clues to be found until everyone had processed this information.

"All that just from the way he fell?" Donovan seemed to disbelieve.

"No. If you were _listening, _or indeed had the brain cells to rub together and work it out for yourself, you'd notice that I also used the signs of struggle-"

"There aren't any."

At this, Sherlock ceased his explanation and sighed heavily, walking out. "You can solve it yourselves if you're going to be this incompetent."

* * *

Sherlock had, upon leaving the house, promptly set off down the street in search of any friends of the victim. The fist stop had been the neighbour's house, where he entered and was taken to the living room to talk. 'Unnecessary polite formalities. Doing this at the door would be twice as fast.'

"We really can't believe he's dead. Such a shame, he was so nice..." The usual drivel was spoken by the couple, who were in all regards usual. Typical elderly couple, typical furniture (the terrible pale colours and frilly coverings on everything) and typical hospitality towards all guests. 'I don't like it.' To say Sherlock was suspicious would be understating just a bit, and he responded to this by observing.

'Neither actually care that he's dead, they're more relieved than anything. A bad neighbour to have perhaps? In any case, not playing an active part in this crime.' He deduced, not at all listening to them, still blathering on about the multitude of exaggerated good qualities the recently deceased apparently had possessed in his ("tragically cut short") life. 'Should be good to ask for information, they have no visible reason to lie.'

"Did Ed have any friends, people he hung out with? Enemies, perhaps?" He inquired, hoping to wrap this encounter up quickly.

"Well, he did talk to Gary a lot." At the mention of Gary, both shared a meaningful glance. 'Finally, we're getting somewhere.'

"Tell me more about Gary."

* * *

It turned out that Gary lived but a short walk away from Ed. The two had met years ago, and had been friends for just as long. The two always got along, and never argued. Until, of course, a few weeks ago, when shouting had been heard from Ed's house. Gary had stormed out in the midst of the argument, and hadn't been seen anywhere near Ed's house since. A clear motive, then. But still, holes were forming in the story that didn't at all add up.

Namely, if they'd had an argument of that severity lately, why would this Gary be trusted enough to get Ed into a back-stabbing position?

Well, the answer would present itself soon, as Sherlock approached the correct house. He was pondering the case, and how deceptively simple it was, as he walked forward. Pondering too much, it seemed, as he failed to notice the man coming up in front of him.

Predictably, the two bumped into each other, causing Sherlock to fall back slightly. "Oh, hi there," The man checked Sherlock over quickly, "Are you okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah." Sherlock looked at the stranger. He realised as he did so that the man fit the vague description that the abnormally normal couple had given. 'Dark hair, about five foot six, strange amount of freckles on his face...'

"You wouldn't happen to be Gary, would you?"

"Yes, and of course you're Sherlock." The man who had now been confirmed as Gary's words startled Sherlock momentarily, the detective having forgotten his new found fame. 'Especially with Moriarty coming back.'

He shook himself out of his thoughts before they derailed too much, "I have a few questions. About Ed."

Gary seemed to grimace slightly at the mention of the dead man, but revealed nothing after this, responding with a casual "Fire away."

"Okay. Are you aware that Mr Lanton is dead?" Based on the reaction, Sherlock would guess that he did, but obviously the reply he received was the negative. "I'd advise you not to lie to me," Sherlock gained an alarmed look at this, causing him to smirk, "I am Sherlock, after all."

"Yes, I knew he was dead," Gary admitted, "I just don't want to talk about it."

'What a change in demeanour! He was all for answering some things before he knew I knew that Ed was dead.' The man's obvious did nothing to quell Sherlock's suspicions, so he continued questioning regardless. "Yes, well. I just want to know if anyone's been acting suspiciously around him lately."

"Well..." Gary paused for a moment in thought, "I don't know what he's called, but I saw a man come round to his house a few days ago. Never seen him before."

'Ah, so helpful.' Sherlock sighed, "Okay, what _can _you tell me about him?"

"He was tall, light haired. Snuck round the back of the house, then seemed to come out of the front door a while later. Ed was there waving him off, so I didn't think too much about it." Of course the mystery man would have been seen only by the one describing him and the one who'd died.

"Just one last thing. Can you tell me where you were at midnight last night?"

* * *

The wild goose chase continued, with Sherlock now back at the house he had started at. The others were still there, but he didn't bother checking up on them.

Unfortunately, Gary had had an alibi, which checked out. He'd been in a local shop, and a quick trip over there had revealed that both the owner and security footage confirmed this. So, the only thing left that he could do was investigate the, probably non-existent, man.

So, he now returned to the too-average neighbours to confirm the man's imaginary status.

Of course, he would never be so lucky.

"Oh yes," The elderly woman smiled at the description, "That's our son, Tom. He came across here a few days ago, visiting."

Sherlock stared at the couple, disbelieving. 'Why can't I just get a straightforward case rather than a convoluted mess like this?' He complained mentally. "I presume he has no reason to kill someone?"

"Of course not!" They had both spoken at once, completely horrified by the very idea. When the two finally got over the shock of the accusation, it was the man who continued speaking. "He'd never kill anyone! And he's never met Ed."

"I see. Can you confirm his location at midnight then?" Sherlock asked, hoping to get an alibi so that he could return to proving Gary's guilt.

"Yes! He was with us the whole time! We went out last night, then went home at around two." The way they took turns in speaking was really starting to creep Sherlock out. 'Well, at least he has an alibi, I guess,'

"We all stayed up watching TV until about two, then Tom had to leave for the airport." Sherlock frowned as the husband spoke, 'Leaving the country may be considered suspicious. That and I can't talk to him now.'

"Yes, he's going to Spain for a week, you see." A useless piece of information was relayed and Sherlock was about to make his excuses and leave before the speaking role switched again.

"Well he was, but the flight keeps getting delayed, so he hasn't left yet." Sherlock grinned internally. 'Success! Now I just need to find him!'

"Honestly, aeroplanes are so useless for scheduling." This time there was no information that he would need from them, so Sherlock cut the woman off.

"Yes, okay. Thanks for that, now I'll just go and talk to him if you don't mind. I presume the airport is-"

"Well, Freak, we've found and caught the killer while you were gallivanting off doing god knows what!" Donovan chose this moment to interrupt, and Sherlock turned around, confused. 'They found Gary? But he has an alibi!'

Surprisingly, it wasn't Gary who was being led to the police car, but someone that Sherlock had never seen before. 'Quite tall, light hai- wait. That's Tom!' Sherlock realised this just as Tom's parents did. The two rushed over to their son, trying to stop the officers from arresting him.

"What're you doing?" Sherlock rushed over, closely followed by Donovan, "Why are you arresting _him?"_

"Not arresting," Greg said, closing the door and shutting Tom in the car, ignoring the desperate pleas of his parents, "Taking into custody. He is the main suspect, after all."

This made Sherlock stop for a moment, 'I suppose it's true,' he relented, 'he _does _seem suspicious here, but he has an alibi, and no motive.' He looked over to the still-distraught couple, "He'll be fine," He pushed them away with perhaps a slight bit more vigour than needed, "No motive, alibi confirmed by two people."

"Bu... he's the only suspect!" Tom's mother wailed. Sherlock officially lost all patience.

"For god's sake, he isn't the only suspect!" He snapped irritably, "Now stop crying and wait here while I go get the actual murderer, okay?" With that, Sherlock stormed off in the direction of Gary's house, ignoring the continued distress of the two behind him, and the questioning shouts from the policemen.

* * *

Of course, when he arrived Gary was nowhere to be seen. "Why?" He moaned, looking around for the man while cursing his bad luck.

Sherlock looked down the road, where the police car was just pulling out. Luckily, Greg was still stood in the driveway, so Sherlock was able to get to him quickly. "Have you seen a man over there?" He asked, pointing towards the house.

"No. Why?" Was Greg's confused response, "What does that have to with anything, anyway? We already found the culprit."

Sherlock glared at the detective at this, "No, you got an innocent man and let the real killer go free."

"Oh, really?" Greg stopped talking for a bit, thinking about the evidence they had, "Who did it then? How'd they do it?"

Sherlock fidgeted anxiously, half tempted to break out the whiny, childlike complaints to get the Useless Brigade to go and actually get the right man for once, but stopped himself as he understood the logic behind Greg's words. Reluctantly, he turned back towards the crime scene and went to go and look at it again, despite the high doubt that there would be anything new to reveal.

Sure enough, the investigation showed that Ed was an alcoholic with a tendency to lose things and only one friend who he saw on a semi-regular basis if he was running late for work (which it seemed he usually was), but nothing of true relevance to the case.

'Well,' Sherlock thought, looking at the room one last time and deciding that Ed had also hated any semblance of organisation, 'There's only one more place to look.'

He was on his way to Gary's house when intercepted by his two favourite irritatingly average old people, who were undoubtedly going to spread their unbounded knowledge to him.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Sherlock decided instantly that he couldn't care less about who was saying what and tried to get around the two.

"We were thinking about it, and we remembered some things about that argument..." The operating word there had been _tried, _as Sherlock was now surrounded. 'Ah well, won't hurt to get some more evidence.'

"Okay. Tell me what you know then."

"Right. You see, the thing they were arguing about, I think it was the ex."

"I see."

"Yes. He, Ed, I mean, was saying something about 'not wanting anything to do with her', but Gary seemed to think otherwise. Not sure how much help it'd be, it seems like a rubbish motive to me- but I'm not a murderer, so how would I know? That's what I thought when I decided to come tell you, see I was telling-"

"Great." Sherlock interrupted, this time making a successful attempt at gaining a passage between the pair and walking off at a brisk pace.

The couple stood watching him march off for a moment, before turning back to the police men. "How rude," The man said, shaking his head at the display of impatience.

* * *

Gary's house, Sherlock decided, was far too easy to break into.

Clearly the man was new to crime, otherwise he may have been a bit more careful, in more than one aspect.

For one, he'd left his door unlocked. Well, not the front door, but still a careless move which had allowed quick access without having to break anything, or pick any locks. 'Really, it just takes the fun out of it.'

Next, the murder weapon. Top tip for aspiring killers, do not, under any circumstances, leave the knife in. Your. Sink.

The object lay there, still covered with blood. It seemed almost like someone was trying to place evidence, but it was doubtful that someone with enough intellect to even think of blaming someone else would actually be this obvious.

Conclusive proof found, all that was required was for Greg and the idiots to come to their senses and realise their mistake. Hopefully, they hadn't charged anyone with anything yet. That'd just be embarrassing.

* * *

Greg seemed mildly surprised to see Sherlock back so soon, especially with his smug I-solved-the-thing grin. "What is it now?" He asked, turning away from the house to talk to the detective.

"Well, I have proof now." The grin turned to a smirk as Sherlock pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket. The contents of the bag consisted of a knife, and lots of blood.

"Oh, great." The sarcasm was evident in Greg's voice, "We've got a murder weapon from god knows where and just put in a random bag."

"Not random," Sherlock frowned, "Anyway, that's not what's important. I found this in Gary's house, and being as it's the murder weapon, thank you most kindly for pointing that out, this means he was the murderer. Case solved, go get the guy, release Tom. Simple."

Greg sighed, "Alright, fine. We'll just go and magically find him." A serious look was shot towards Sherlock, "You may have figured out who it was, but we still need to get the man first."

"Obviously." A hint of irritation carried through in Sherlock's voice. 'Do you think I don't know that? Honestly, this could have been wrapped up hours ago if you'd just _arrested the man when I told you to!'_

Greg recognised the source of his irritation and sighed. "Look, we'll find him, okay? It just might take a while." He turned to Donovan, who still stood near the scene and was chatting to the team inside.

"Hey!" He called her over with the shout and a wave of his hand. "Turns out we were wrong. Tom didn't do it, a man called Gary did."

At this Donovan gave an angry breath. "Of course we were. Okay, where is this Gary then?"

"Ah, yes. That's the thing. He... we don't know where he is, actually."

Donovan seemed even more angry at Greg's next words. She turned resignedly to Sherlock, who was (despite being annoyed at the lack of action) pleased with the fact that he'd been right. Again.

"Okay, give me a description of him then." She looked at the detective, who launched into details about the man.

* * *

"Finally!" Sherlock stood in 221B, talking on the phone to Greg. It had taken them three hours to track down the location, but eventually Gary was found in the car park of the airport, attempting to work out how to get into a car.

"A bit odd though," Greg's voice sounded over the phone, "Why would he be trying to break into someone's car? If he was at the airport, wouldn't he just get a plane?"

Sherlock considered this for a moment. 'Why would he... well, if he was trying to get into someone's car then clearly he had a reason. Trying to work out... he mustn't have wanted anyone to know that he'd done it. Wait...'

"Perhaps he wanted to plant evidence. Do you know whose car it is?" The suggestion was met with silence for a while, with only background noise and the occasional snippet of speech before Greg finally replied.

"Yeah, it was Tom's." Another pause came here, though one for thought rather than checking information. "But what would he be planting? The knife was still in his house."

"Ask him." Was the only suggestion Sherlock could come up with. 'Maybe he forgot to take it with him,' Sherlock thought, 'I wouldn't put it past him, with his, quite frankly, terrible murdering skills.'

This theory was confirmed by Greg a few moments later, in a voice which sounded like he was chuckling slightly at the murderer's expense. "Well," He concluded, "That's that then. See you." The phone was hung up from the other end and Sherlock removed it from where he was holding it next to his ear.

Immediately after, he put it back up and accepted the call from Moriarty.

"I see you managed to solve the case, then." The voice from the other end of the phone sounded very impressed with them self, and Sherlock could clearly imagine the exact smug smile that would accompany this tone.

"Yes, it was quite obvious, really." This time it was Sherlock's turn to be impressed with himself. This was short lived however as the next words restarted the confusion.

"I suppose. So, have you managed to work out the other thing yet?" Moriarty's words stopped Sherlock in his tracks.

"What-" He stopped, remembering the mask that had been found earlier in the day at the crime scene, before anyone else had arrived. "Oh, that. No, not yet."

Honestly, Sherlock had paid it no mind, to wrapped up in the current case to pursue other mysteries.

"I see, well I suppose you're too late now, because it's no longer relevant." These words made Sherlock think that he was probably going to regret not giving it more of his attention.

Not really wanting to know the response, Sherlock asked "What do you mean, 'not relevant'?"

"Ah, well. It was a warning of sorts."

"Warning?" Now he _really _regretted not working it out.

"Yes, a warning. That the one who the mask shows... will be kidnapped."

"What?" Sherlock hung up the phone immediately after hearing the words, rushing out of his flat and straight to John's house.

* * *

Sherlock came to a stop, panting for breath and doubled over from the effort of running the whole way to John's house. Mary was already stood outside, looking around anxiously. She perked up considerably upon noticing Sherlock, but still seemed nervous.

"John?" Was all Sherlock said. It was all that needed to be said, as his wife shook her head slowly.

"Gone. Just... gone. Was it..." She trailed off, looking for a negative response from Sherlock.

Unfortunately, he couldn't give one. He nodded. "Yes. Moriarty."

The confirmation made Mary look down, crestfallen. Again, John had been kidnapped. When next words were said, they were said by the both of them.

"Let's go get him."

Unfortunately, the likelihood of that being able to happen was very small.

* * *

**Yep! Starting this off with a (not so mysterious) mystery!**

**This is my attempt at suspense and cliff-hangers. (Is it any good?)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n: Well, another chapter's here. It took me ages to write, because the plot just didn't want to move along at all. Hopefully the fact that it's longer can make up for that...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"What did you do with him?" Sherlock growled down the phone. He had yet to leave Mary, but had entered the house with her after a few minutes of angry pacing on the driveway.

"Ha! Well..." Moriarty had rung soon after, and had not been given time for an introduction before Sherlock had exploded at him. "I'm not telling!" He half sung, sounding like a child who'd just gained a one-up in a petty playground squabble.

"Also," He continued, "If you try and find him before I want you to... well, I think you know the drill by now."

"You _bastard._" Mary raged. The conversation was on loudspeaker, so she had heard the entire exchange. _"__What did you do to John?"_

Another laugh sounded, then Moriarty continued. "Ah, the wife! Yes, I imagine you wouldn't be too happy... well rest assured both of you- your little Johnny's just fine." The 'let's keep it that way' was never vocalised, but it was heavily implied.

"Okay then." Sherlock tried the diplomatic approach, "When will you want us to find him?"

"Hmm... good question! I have a few more things lined up for now, so just sit tight and keep solving the cases I give you." This was apparently a hilarious response, as Moriarty began laughing uncontrollably at this.

Neither Sherlock nor Mary could do anything other than sit there, useless, as Moriarty continued laughing. Eventually, Sherlock slammed down the phone and hung up, glaring at the offending piece of technology as he did so.

It was not long later that he received a text for his trouble.

_Well, how rude. Your cruel actions hurt me! -JM _

The message was read, but not responded to, as Sherlock pocketed the phone and stood up.

With nothing left to do there, Sherlock left the house and went off to wait for his next case.

* * *

He had not managed to get even halfway back before he was literally picked up and carted off to whatever obscure location Moriarty had decided on for his next 'talking to Sherlock hideout spot'. Wherever it was, it was quite a way away from wherever he'd been picked up from, as Sherlock found himself getting rather bored on the long trip, most of which was spent dangling uselessly, draped over someone's shoulder.

He'd occupied himself by trying to make what little deductions he could, despite being unable to see. 'Quite the test of skill, it's pretty useful really.' He'd reasoned while discovering that the man was having an affair on his wife 'No... girlfriend...' and wondering why it was that people always seemed to hire those in a far-from-perfect relationship as their henchmen.

The time for wondering was over when he was dumped unceremoniously on the floor next to Moriarty, who was also sat down for some reason.

"Hi! Nice of you to _drop in _like this!" The joke was laughed at only by its creator, causing the man to pout. "Aww, come on Sherlock! Have a sense of humour, would you?"

"What do you need me here for if you've already talked to me once already?"

"Always the questions with you." Moriarty's tone sounded as though he spoke from vast experience, "If you _must _know, I found a new case for you."

At the lack of response Moriarty continued unhindered, "I know! Already, right? Anyway, this one should be fun. I'll get Betsy here to drop you off there when we're done talking."

At the word Betsy, Moriarty motioned towards the man still stood in the corner, and Sherlock found himself stifling a laugh despite the seriousness of the situation.

"Aha!" The words were a cry of victory, "I knew you had some humour somewhere!"

Sherlock huffed at this. "Well, anyway, onto what I called you here for! I was just going to say, this game will probably have six more parts, including this next one. Maybe. You never know, eh?"

And with that, Sherlock was once again chucked over "Betsy's" shoulder and marched off to a new unknown location.

* * *

He was dropped off in front of a random building. Betsy seemed reluctant to leave, until Sherlock tried opening the door to it, failing in gaining entrance but succeeding in getting the silent man to walk off, still without having said a word. Sherlock tried the door again, and being unsuccessful for a second time he called Greg.

While he waited for the man's arrival, Sherlock started working things out about the building itself. It seemed to be a workplace, based on the style of building. Offices, most likely, from what was visible from through the many small windows. Not a small company, either. The building was large, and had the glass entrance typical of a more official or professional looking business.

Visible through the front doors was a desk, sleek and made of wood. 'Oak?' He guessed, 'Can't be sure from this distance.' Surrounding this were all the typical furnishings and equipment of a company specialising in security, or some sort of protection. 'Storage units for the rich?' The idea worked with the amount of office space they seemed to have, so Sherlock stuck with this and turned his attention to finding out exactly what had happened for there to be a case in this building.

* * *

It was only about an hour later that anyone else turned up, and in this time the only theory that came to mind was a robbery gone wrong- although with no signs of a break in this didn't seem very likely.

"Ah, Freak's here already." To his utmost displeasure, the first one to grace Sherlock with their presence was Donovan, who was unhappy as ever to see him. 'You'd have thought she'd like me at least a little more now that she knows I'm capable of feelings... mind you she also knows I'm a murderer now...' Sherlock turned to face the woman, just as pleased to see her as she was to see him.

"Where's the crime scene then? I don't see a body." At this Sherlock pointed to the building behind him, causing Donovan to laugh slightly. "Of course, and how do you know that, hmm?"

Sherlock didn't respond, and the matter was left unresolved as Greg came up to act as mediator. "Okay, so I'm assuming this is another Moriarty case?" Greg asked, noticing the way Sherlock tensed up at the mention of the name. 'What's he done now?' He wondered, glancing at Donovan, who seemed to have not noticed what had happened.

"Hey freak, where's John?" Sherlock hesitated before replying with an easy excuse of 'staying with Mary for now' in response to this. 'Great, so the Moriarty thing is John based.' Greg decided not to push the subject, instead looking towards the soon-to-be-announced crime scene.

"Let's get in, shall we?" He suggested, walking up to the entrance and waiting for someone to open it for him.

* * *

"Ah."

The three stood on the first floor, standing in a line and staring down at the body they'd just found.

The ground floor had been searched thoroughly before anyone set foot upstairs, and nothing had been found. No signs of breaking, no bodies, nothing out of the ordinary. It was just when Donovan was starting to think that they'd all been pulled out for nothing that they finally ventured up to find the scene before them.

A woman lay slumped against a desk, blood covering her head and stomach. The knife was still in her, and whatever it had been that had been smashed over her head lay in pieces around her. 'A vase,' Sherlock recognised. 'Blue, quite large, it was brought down from the front. Possibly a defensive attempt gone awry...'

"Well, robbery gone wrong is back up as a possibility." Sherlock noted, glancing around the rest of the room.

The space was open-pan, filled mostly by desks separated only by the small gaps between them. Again, there was no visible point through which someone could enter. All the windows were closed, and being as it was the first floor there were no doors leading to the outside. 'Curious,' Sherlock started walking into the room more as Greg and Sally started their own examinations of the body. He made a mental note to check back on them later to see if they'd worked out who the victim was yet, pushing open the first door he came across.

The corridor he entered contained a staircase, which seemed to grant access to all floors. It seemed less well kept than the other areas so far, 'Probably because it's out of public view,' but in regards to evidence it was just more of the same.

Sherlock walked over to the stairs leading upwards, looking up them to see if anything new made itself apparent. Predictably, he had no such luck. 'Well, this was clearly well thought out, properly planned... that woman must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

He continued onwards, following the flight of stairs with more than his eyes this time. Deciding to start on the top floor and work his way down, Sherlock walked up with a slight spring in his step, invigorated by the intelligence of this crime compared to the last.

* * *

Starting from the top turned out to be a good idea, or at least a time-saving one.

Sherlock looked at the door leading to the roof. It had been left open, presumably by the perpetrators, trying to make a hasty exit. Walking out onto the roof, he saw the other things left behind. It became immediately obvious exactly how they'd done it: scaling the building.

Equipment for the climb had been left behind at the edge of the building, causing Sherlock to wonder exactly how whoever it was had managed to get back _down _again.

Choosing to dismiss the matter for now, he wandered closer to the edge, looking over it and at the city below. There was yet again nothing new to discover, so the search was limited to a bunch of ropes and clips. 'Well, I've had less to work with...'

Only slightly dejected by the lack of new evidence, Sherlock turned back to the equipment. It was what you'd typically expect to find when looking at kit used to climb buildings, with no obvious additions that could reveal anything. He surveyed the rest of the roof and found nothing else of note, so decided to go and check back with the idiots below.

* * *

"Name's Lilly Beech. 32, been working here for a few years apparently. No enemies, but not really any friends either. Just... kept to herself." The official information gathering was just beginning as the police had taken the entire time Sherlock was out just to get a name.

"So," Greg finished sharing the little information he had, "You get anywhere, then?"

Sherlock nodded, quickly explaining what he had discovered. Greg nodded thoughtfully at the end of the explanation, looking to the floor in concentration for a few seconds before looking up again and speaking again.

"They got in by scaling up... but didn't get out by going back down. Not the way they came, anyway. Is it possible that they're still in the building?"

"Possible, but not probable." Sherlock rejected the idea, "If they were willing to kill someone to get they wanted, then they'd probably get out of there as soon as they had done..."

"Well then," Sally chose now to add her sarcastic input, "How did they escape? Flying?"

"Probably." The completely serious response to the scathing question took both of the others by surprise, "A helicopter or something of the sort, land on the roof and take them away."

"How does that explain why they left their things behind?" Sally regained enough composure at the explanation to be able to ask.

"I never said it did," Sherlock smirked slightly, having the upper hand as usual. "But, if you _must _know, it's because that way, exactly what's happening now would happen."

"What's happening now?" Greg frowned, none too pleased at the prospect of playing into the murderer's hands already.

"Work it out yourself." Out of patience, Sherlock snapped the words slightly. Luckily, being used to such treatment, neither Greg nor Sally even blinked in response.

"Ah, I see." It was Greg who worked it out first, taking only a few moments to do so. At this, Sally (having taken slightly longer to catch on) frowned slightly in confusion, "Leaving it behind means that we'll think that they're still here, leading us to waste our efforts searching the building while they all get away."

Sherlock nodded his agreement, looking over to Lilly's corpse. "So, now we go and find them."

* * *

The first action taken had been to find out what had been taken. An inventory was taken, revealing that only one thing was missing: a folder, which had been described as containing 'information on beekeeping'.

Unless there was a criminal gang out to take over the world with a swarm of highly trained bees that Sherlock had not yet been made aware of, it was highly doubtful that this was the actual content of the folder. 'Why is it never just money? Always some government conspiracy or plan to assassinate the Queen or something ridiculous like that.'

Cursing his ability to get caught up in all the potential crimes of the century when it was least convenient, Sherlock sought out the true identity of the documents inside the folder.

* * *

"Of course not! That is _highly _confidential information! No one must see without explicit permission from the owner!" The shocked tone of the thoroughly taken aback receptionist reverberated around the small area outside the main office of the building.

Having tracked down the owner of the stolen documents, Sherlock had gone to explain the situation, but was having no luck as of yet.

"Yes, well it isn't going to be confidential for much loner anyway, being as it was _stolen this morning, _as I have previously informed you."

"Stolen?" The question was practically screeched, the harsh sound causing Sherlock to wince slightly, "Why didn't you tell me earlier!"

She proceeded to let him into the next room. Sherlock sighed at the idiocy, but continued onwards regardless, glad that the message had got through, however belatedly.

The office he was led into was one typical of someone of status, or at least someone attempting to give off the impression of power. In the middle stood a desk, decorated by a few small sculptures, the typical family photo, and a laptop, currently closed. Sat behind this desk was a man in a smart suit, who was frowning at the words he was reading while twiddling his pen absently. 'An expensive looking pen, too. Ah, the typical rich man, obsessed with image.'

"Oh, hello there. Please, feel free to sit down." The man greeted, gesturing to a chair already placed in front of the desk. 'Gets company often? Either that or he expected me to come...'

It was only with a slight hesitation that Sherlock lowered himself into the chair, looking to the still unnamed man expectantly. It took a while for the other to get the hint, but when he did, he stiffened slightly in realisation.

"Ah, where are my manners?" He apologised, smiling at Sherlock. "I'm Al." He continued after a few seconds of silence in which the smile was not returned, "Well, Al Spenson to be more formal, but you can call me Al."

Sherlock had long ago decided that any manners shown by this self obsessed man wouldn't be reciprocated. "Sherlock. Holmes, more specifically." He didn't say anything else, slightly enjoying the look of discomfort from Al, who was clearly unused to such treatment.

"Okay," Al started speaking again after a while, "What did you come to ask?"

"You had a folder being stored in a building not far from here. What did it contain?"

"What do you think you're- wait." The self righteous rage was halted before it could begin as the choice of words was noticed, being replaced by a slight sense of panic. "You say had... what happened to it?"

"Yes, it was stolen at some time last night." Sherlock explained, "Obviously, a folder that requires assured safety in storage must be of at least some importance, so I came here to find out exactly what we're dealing with."

At this, Al frowned. "Ah. Well, I can't really go into much detail here, but... I think it's safe to say that the contents have the potential to be dangerous, if they get into the wrong hands."

"Are you sure you can't tell me what's in them?" Sherlock received a short laugh at this question.

"Yes." Al smiled slightly, looking mildly apologetic. "You see, even I don't know what's in them. Not fully, at least. All I've been told is that it is of utmost importance that they stay safe and hidden, and that the secrets they contain could probably be used to take down the government."

"I see." Sherlock looked at the man sceptically. "Well, I'll be going now then."

"Okay," Al pressed a button on the desk which got his assistant to open the door, "Good luck with your search!"

Sherlock didn't bother replying.

* * *

"So did you learn anything?"

"No, of course not." Sherlock's exasperation showed clearly in his voice, "When has anyone ever given useful information when it could be of benefit to them to do so?"

"Heh. Well, you'll be glad to know that we _did _get something, even if it is a small piece of evidence."

"Ah?" Sherlock was taken to this bit of evidence by Greg, who seemed very impressed to have got more than him. It was in the room where the folder had been kept, but Sherlock couldn't see with all the people swarming around it.

Eventually the room cleared enough for Sherlock to get a good look, and he was disappointed to see... well, nothing. "I don't get it." He stated, looking, unimpressed, at the empty box.

"Yes, well... it isn't exactly something you can see, but we've got prints!" Greg then motioned again, indicating that Sherlock should look at the fingerprint match they'd found.

"Umm..." Sherlock looked down at the paper, informing him that the one who had so carelessly touched the box was none other than the owner. 'Wow, shocker.'

"Is something wrong?" Greg tilted his head, squinting at the paper.

"Well you could say that." At the lack of understanding, Sherlock expounded, "Those prints belong to Al, the owner of the documents."

"Oh."

'Well, this leaves us back at square one again.' Sherlock realised then that this was his first time in the room, and took note of the finer details accordingly.

It was a room fitted with various security features: cameras pointing in all directions; alarms on the door stopped only by entering the correct code; a few movement sensors by the door and the like. There was no way to get in without having worked out the code, which would seemingly turn off all of the security for a while.

"So, I guess that leaves us with nothing again, doesn't it?" Sherlock reviewed the events thus far in his head. The only option still viable regarding the double-checking option seemed to be the climbing equipment. 'Perhaps,' He realised, 'It'll have something inside that could tie it to someone, or a group...'

Luckily, this hunch proved true. The bag contained a small (to the point of being barely noticeable, which Sherlock was using as the official excuse for not noticing it sooner) insignia, depicting a dark red A, surrounded by what appeared to be thorns, protruding at random angles. If he squinted enough, Sherlock could almost make out an attempt at creating a rose shape with the curved font used for the A.

'A relatively new gang.' Sherlock realised, not recognising the pattern. 'Either that or a longstanding yet ineffective and little known one.'

Deciding that knowing how long the gang had existed for was of no relevance, Sherlock set off to find out more about the symbol.

* * *

It had taken a while to gather the required information, but eventually a location was found and Sherlock was able to enter the hideout. It was suitably shady for an organisation into murder and thieving, a slightly wrecked house that gave off the typical 'haunted' feel.

Inside was just as ruined as the outside, but was littered with random parts and objects that were simply too broken to be of any practical use. There was only one door on the first floor that was closed, and voices could be heard from behind it. These voices, at first random strings of sound, became clearer as Sherlock approached.

"Do... use to... mail th... now?" A male voice was the first distinguishable sound, though only parts of fragmented speech got through the door and to Sherlock's ears.

He stepped forwards a few more paces, pressed slightly towards the wall, knees bent. He stopped as the response came, slightly clearer but still not enough. "No... soon... bl... end it..." This voice was female, and the way they talked directly indicated that there were no others present.

"What will we do ab... then? He does... ct yet does he?" The man asked a question now, Sherlock being fairly certain that he'd heard him saying 'suspect.' 'Who suspects? What do they suspect?' Sherlock's inner questioning prompted the next few small steps, closing in the gap a few silent feet at a time.

"No, but it was a close one. He-" The noise stopped and so did Sherlock. Throughout the house, all activity stopped. The three on either side of the door went instantly to high alert, with Sherlock starting to back off slightly as the other two paused to really listen to any other sounds.

"Someone got in?" The question was asked with undertones of exasperation, "Why now?"

"No... I don't think so..." Sherlock had to restrain the breath of relief at the female's words as he moved backwards around a mop, not taking his eyes off the door, "Probably just the wind. Why we don't get a better place to operate from is beyond me."

The complaint seemed to have eased the tension in both speaker and listener, as both began to talk louder again, sharing funny memories involving the state of the building.

Soon the joking stopped and a more serious nature developed in the conversation. It appeared as though the two were preparing to move out, so Sherlock quickly ducked behind a pile of random objects and watched from behind it as they left.

As predicted, the duo consisted of a male and female, both wearing clothes suited more to an office environment. The woman looked vaguely familiar, but Sherlock couldn't think of where he'd seen her before. He waited for a few seconds after they closed the door behind them before coming out, keeping a wary eye on the door as he did so. He managed to reach the room without interruption, and listened outside it for a while to check that nobody was in there before entering.

Inside the room was a lopsided table, which seemed barely able to support its own weight, never mind the weight of the stacks of paper that had been dumped on it. Further inspection revealed these papers to be plans of some sort, with lists of names and addresses of multiple people. The common factor between these people seemed to be that they were all part of the government. 'Ah, I _love _a good government-takedown attempt.'

Unfortunately, it seemed that whatever had been stolen hadn't been taken here, as there was no actual information on any of the people that could be used against them. 'Unless they're going to go to their houses, but I'm sure that with enough luck you could find that information on the internet.'

Deciding that there wasn't any information on the actual plan, Sherlock left the room and walked out of the house. He attempted to follow the footprints of the two that had left a few minutes earlier, sending a text to Greg as he went informing him of the situation.

_Following two people from that group -SH_

_Great. Tell us if you work out where they're going and we'll come get them._

* * *

As it turned out, the two had parted ways at the top of the road, one going left and one going right. 'Great,' Sherlock looked at the footprints, realising that the man had taken the left path, the woman the right. 'Now which to choose?'

After a few moments of deliberation which may or may not have included a game of ip dip do, Sherlock turned left, walking with conviction and confidence. Straight into a tree.

After dusting himself and silently rejoicing in the fact that no one had been around to see the slip-up, Sherlock continued following. It didn't take long before he had caught up to the man, resorting to ducking behind trees whenever he decided to look around. Sherlock sent a text to Greg informing him of this, and telling him the road they were on.

The police took about half an hour to arrive, by which point Sherlock was very glad to see the man put in the car and taken away.

* * *

"Who do you work for?"

The man, having been taken to the station, was uncooperative, especially when asked about his line of work. So far, not even a name had been obtained. Not that this was hindering Sherlock any in his questions- he simply continued as if an answer had been given.

"Who was the woman you were with?"

Again the question was met with a determined silence. Sherlock decided upon a different approach, making his next question slightly more vague.

"What did you plan on doing?"

"Going home. Not being stuck in a police station." Finally a response was given, however unhelpful.

"I see." Sherlock acknowledged begrudgingly that this approach would get him nowhere. With nothing else left to do, he turned his attention to remembering the place he'd seen the other, hoping that it wasn't an inconsequential face in the crowd.

"Now," The man interrupted Sherlock's train of thought, "I'd like to be let go now. I have a job to get to, you know. Sitting in an office is much better than this..."

"Aha!" Sherlock cried out in victory, standing up and running out of the room. Behind him the man was still sat down, handcuffed to the table.

"Hey!" He shouted, failing to gain anyone's attention, "Let me out! Someone? Well, thanks a bunch!"

* * *

Sherlock stormed into the office, followed by a group of slightly confused policemen. Their only instructions had been to 'follow him and arrest whoever he finds guilty', so the confusion was excusable.

The group approached the front desk, behind which sat the receptionist who was undoubtedly the same one who had been in the house before. Sherlock pointed at her, indicating that an arrest should be made, while continuing onwards into the next room.

The shouts of complaint and warning not to enter the next room were ignored by all, as the officers made the arrest and Sherlock shoved the doors open.

"Ah, hello. Made any progress on the case yet?" Al asked as he walked in, unsurprised to see the rude entrance. (This was, though, probably due in part to the fact that there had been no attempt at sneaking in, so he would have had time to compose himself.)

"Yes, actually. I now know that you have it." Sherlock made his way over to the man, searching his desk for the folder. While he didn't manage to find that, he did notice something else that was interesting. One of the sculptures decorating the desk bore a striking resemblance to the symbol used for the group. 'So that's where they got it from.'

The policemen, having finished their arrest of the secretary, came up behind Sherlock and advanced on Al. He seemed to consider his options for a moment, then slouched, realising that running away was a terrible option.

"So where is it?" Sherlock started shoving objects off the desk as his search continued. At first, Al seemed to have no plans to cooperate, but when the things falling stopped being bits of paper and started being his more expensive items, he reconsidered.

"Stop!" He shouted urgently, trying to reach out and grab his sculptures before they met their doom on the office floor, "Okay, okay... I'll tell you. Just, don't _break _anything..."

Smirking, Sherlock moved his hand away from the desk, nodding for Al to continue.

"Well, it's..."

* * *

Greg sat back in the police car, case finally closed. In the end it had turned out that the plan for the information had been to blackmail the higher company members into giving Al promotions. He would bring his secretaries up with him, so they all reaped the benefits. The importance of the folder had been exaggerated somewhat, being as all the information it contained was on the company members that they'd be blackmailing. This had been done to alleviate suspicion, as saying that the documents contained 'blackmail information on all my higher ups' would probably be a great way to end up arrested. They'd gone in through the roof to make it look more like a robbery, but hadn't planned on anyone still being in the building.

It had been Al who'd killed Lilly, in self defence. She'd ran up to them in attempt to ward them off, which had backfired when the vase she'd been holding was knocked back into her and smashed over her head. Not wanting to take any chances, Al had then stabbed her before they continued on and unlocked the safe, taking the documents and walking off with them.

All three of the guilty group had been taken in, and as soon as the final arrest was made Sherlock had sped off to god knows where, not even waiting for his chance to give a top-speed explanation that left everyone more confused and Sherlock more smug.

'What's up with him anyway?' Greg wondered. He'd noticed that the detective had been quieter recently, and acted as if he had something that he needed to do, but still was solving cases. 'I'd chalk it up to Moriarty, but...' Sherlock had not been the only one acting off. John hadn't been seen for days, and it wasn't like him to stay away from Sherlock for so long, even if they'd argued. 'I hope he's okay. I know he was poisoned before, but that was a while ago, and I thought he'd have recovered by now...' The option that was most likely at this point was that John had been kidnapped by Moriarty, but until he had solid proof of it Greg had decided to pretend that this wasn't true.

Greg sighed. Even knowing the two was more trouble than it was worth, with all the time that had to be sent worrying over them.

'Hopefully there's nothing to worry about, and they both get back to normal soon...'

* * *

Of course, Greg's wish was one not likely to be coming true any time soon.

Sherlock had again gone to meet Moriarty, who apparently had no plans to release John just yet.

"Nice that you managed to save the day there, Sherly. Why didn't you stick around for longer?"

"Because as you well know," Sherlock said, remembering how he'd been just about to follow Greg before the rude interruption had come, "You told me to come here just as the case ended."

"Ah, yes. Well, you didn't have to come." Moriarty followed this up with a look that showed just how much Sherlock _did _need to come, and he frowned.

"Where's John then?" Sherlock asked, looking around slightly for him.

Moriarty watched for a while as he did this before interrupting, smiling with supressed laughter. "I never said I'd return him to you after this case, did I?" The supressed laughter stopped as he straightened with an 'oh' of realisation.

"I have something for you, too!" At this, Moriarty produced something from behind his back. That something was a mask, which when turned over revealed Mary's face.

'Oh you son of a-' Sherlock didn't take the time to respond, sprinting off in the direction of Mary and John's home.

* * *

Sherlock arrived at the house out of breath, for the second time. 'I can't believe he...' Sherlock entered the house, finding the door to be open.

Predictably there was nobody there.

"Damn it!" Sherlock cursed into the air, angered by his failure to protect the two he most cared about.

* * *

**Ta da! And the plot thickens!**

**Now you've read it, how about a review? (Even if it's just to say 'your story sucks and so do you' (though that isn't preferable...))**

**Now I can get straight onto writing the next chapter... hahaha it never ends oh god.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n: Ahaha oops, I kinda didn't update for ages. Sorry! I recently made the (quite brilliant) decision to watch all the episodes of Pokémon. Good for keeping yourself up all night, not so good for productivity of any kind.  
Well at least it's here now, right?**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Sherlock had, yet again, been called by Moriarty regarding a new case that would need solving. Would need, as apparently the crime was still yet to happen.

Not that this concerned him. No, he had much better things to be doing.

Sherlock had decided in the time spent sitting in John's house, staring blankly at the wall, that enough was enough. John would be found, Moriarty would go down, and Mary could come along for the ride too, being as she'd been dragged into the mess already.

The only problem after making this decision was working out how exactly this was all going to be carried out, particularly the part where the two were actually _found._

So, after a while spent deliberating, a plan was formed. It was simple, really. Sherlock would wait until Moriarty called on him, and go along as usual. He would go along with the usual meeting style, too. Moriarty would say things, Sherlock would get annoyed.

All would be normal until it was time to leave. At this point, Sherlock would hide himself and follow Moriarty, trailing behind at the perfect distance to only just go unnoticed.

It was simple, really, and he couldn't help but wonder why on earth he hadn't thought of it before. 'Because before you realised that this would be a great way to get yourself killed!' An irritating thought appeared, but was quickly dismissed.

And all he had to do now was wait.

Easier said than done, being as patience was most certainly not his strong point.

_Murder at 2 o'clock! By which I mean time, not position. ;) So go along and check it out! -JM_

Sherlock cursed at the message he'd just read, but managed to compose himself and calm down with the knowledge that this was only a minor setback. In fact, this was exactly what he needed. After all, he was only ever sent to Moriarty after solving a case. 'Just play along, and sooner or later he'll have to talk to you face to face!'

* * *

The murder this time had happened outside. It had clearly been either a very well orchestrated murder (for which Sherlock could only applaud the murderer, clearly a lot of thought had gone into this) or very bad timing on the recently deceased's part.

The man who'd died had been hit by a car. That in itself was completely ordinary, and had he only been supplied with this information Sherlock would have been questioning why exactly the police were even calling him in for this. Hell, he'd be a bit confused over why they were there at all.

As it was, things were a little more complicated than they first looked. For starters, the car had been completely stationary seconds before it had rammed into and killed him. The next odd thing was that no one was in the car at the time. In fact, neither car nor man had even been on the road at the time of the accident.

The car had been hit by a bus, sending it through the air and crashing into the man as it landed.

The bus driver had of course been questioned on the crash, and he had no memory of even getting into the bus. Further investigation revealed that the man found in the driver's seat wasn't even a bus driver.

At this point it was becoming more and more obvious that something was amiss. This was when Sherlock had been officially called in, despite already having been on his way to the scene, and after a brief explanation of the events thus far he had added his expert opinion on the case:

"How strange."

Sherlock now stood with Greg, talking to the not-a-bus-driver who was still providing very little insight.

"I don't remember getting on the bus! I told you before!" He was getting more and more urgent as he spoke, by now practically begging them to believe him.

"Well of course you don't." Sherlock had had enough. It took a great deal of effort to remind himself that he was solving this ridiculous crime for John, and that any odd behaviour would lead to everyone figuring the situation out. "That's because you weren't the one who crashed the bus!"

The man slumped in relief upon realising that at least _somebody _believed his ridiculous words. "Thanks." He expressed his relief by showing gratitude. A gratitude that was, quite rudely, rebuffed by Sherlock.

"Yes, yes. Well, now that we've got that sort-"

"Hey! No we haven't! You didn't prove anything yet!" Donovan shouted, frowning. 'What's he playing at? Not the one who crashed the bus indeed!'

Sherlock sighed. It managed to be both a long-suffering sigh, drawn out to the extreme, and a short huff of air signifying slight annoyance at the same time. "Well, if he _was _the guilty one and had forgotten, he'd have to have had a head injury of some sort. He looks fine. Too fine, may I add, for one who's just been in a bus crash. Well, at the front anyway. Even if he was both guilty and lying he wouldn't have stuck around if he was this able to walk. So, no. Not the driver. Not even an unsuspecting passenger, judging by the lapse in memory. Probably..." A short break between the words was taken, giving enough time for Sherlock to inspect the man's face more closely. He took in the entire appearance, then prodded at his right cheek slightly. Seeming to have gained the confirmation he was looking for, Sherlock nodded slightly and straightened up before continuing. "Yes. Kidnapped, drugged, doesn't remember a thing."

"Oh." Was the short reply, supplied by a thoroughly shut-down Donovan. "Well. Uhh... Who _did _do it?" As usual, after the first argument she became slightly more friendly, at least to the point where the two could stand each other's presence without conflict.

"I'm not certain at the moment. But we can deduce that..." The scene was surveyed again, Sherlock taking in the details properly this time, "Bus trashed, on one side." His next words were spoken as his disjointed thoughts were externalized, "Double decker, top lot probably dead- unimportant." The casual dismissal caused those present to pull slightly horrified expressions, but Sherlock continued regardless. "Bad crash, so whoever was at the front was in no condition to walk. Accomplices? No. Well, none to get them out of there. So, still on the bus..."

Sherlock trailing off in realisation was the cue for Greg to act. "Don't let 'em off the bus!" He yelled, running over to the first aiders at the scene.

* * *

It took a few minutes to clear up the slight miscommunication created when Greg had rushed at all the volunteers who were getting people off the bus, screaming about murderers and interrupting their work. This had understandably caused a shouting match between him and the first aiders over the health of all those on board.

After it was understood by both parties that _yes _they probably do need medical treatment, but then also _yes _one of the people on that bus _intentionally drove it into a car to kill someone, _a compromise could be made.

This compromise was that all passengers would be taken off, checked over, and then one of two things could happen.

One: they were deemed unfit to go without immediate treatment, resulting in them being sent to an ambulance and kept there. Two: they were able to talk, in which case they were questioned and taken off to be held somewhere until the real culprit was discovered.

So naturally they managed to talk to a grand total of seven people, all of which had been very irritated at the inconvenience and also clearly _not _murderer material, but they were kept around anyway with the promise that they'd be able to see the criminal carted off if they did.

All that was left to do now was to search through the people who were injured.

* * *

"So, did any of you see the _driver?_" Sherlock, having some kind of common sense, had decided against trying to talk to the people 'still recovering'. (Okay, so he'd actually tried previously and been shouted at, but it counted as common sense not to try it again!) He'd then had to find a new person, or group of people, to interrogate.

He'd seen and subsequently approached some people who were on the road at the time, driving or walking on the pavement, and had just started with the questions. So far, there had been no luck on the gaining answers front.

"Right. Carrying on then... did they seem male, or female?" This gained a better response, as murmurs broke out amongst the gathered adults. The general consensus seemed to be that they looked female. 'So they _did _see the driver. Why didn't they just _say so?'_

"Okay. So we're looking for a female. That narrows it down a bit, at least..." Sherlock decided to quit while he was ahead and go to tell the others the new piece of hard-earned information.

When he found the two officers, he was mildly amused to find them in the same situation he'd been in a few minutes ago. Greg seemed uninterested in the lecture he was getting, standing casually and exuding an air of 'not my division' style lack of care for the angry words.

Donovan was leaning away from the offending woman slightly, confused over why she was being yelled at for something as trivial, yet important to the investigation, as talking to the suspects.

"-And they need rest!" Just as Sherlock moved into earshot, the scolding ended. He was mildly disappointed to have missed an opportunity to enjoy the suffering of the two more fully, but soon got over it.

"Ah, yes. Knew there was something I didn't mention." He smirked, clearly unapologetic through both words and tone. "Trying to talk to them? Bad idea."

"Wow Sherlock." Greg turned to greet him, "Thanks for that advice. Really appreciate it."

"Yes." Sherlock gave a look of mirth that clearly gave off a 'you're welcome' vibe, but when he continued it was back to the seriousness. "Well, they were female. Don't even bother with witnesses, they're useless."

"Okay." There was a pause here for a while as a new course of action was planned out. "Right. So, we need to get all of these people's statements eventually," At this an accusatory glance was sent to the people still fussing over the injured, "Sooner rather than later hopefully. 'Till then, what about a motive?"

And so it was decided that all attention would be directed to pursuing this goal, rather than sitting around waiting to get a chance to talk to everyone else.

* * *

"Peter?" Sherlock looked to Greg for confirmation.

"Yeah. Kinsey's the last name, apparently. Nice guy, according to those who knew 'im."

"Who _isn't _a nice guy when they're dead?" Sherlock studied the body more closely. They'd been stood around it for a while now, while conversing with the family and friends (none of whom seemed particularly pleased to be stood round the dead body of their friend, really) and it was becoming apparent that the body held no secrets. Well, at least none pertaining to the case. He turned to the first person he saw and started talking.

"So, no motive you could think of?" If not for the fact that Moriarty had told him that this was a murder, Sherlock would've probably given up by now already. As it was, he had to continue asking around in the vague hopes that someone knew _something _even mildly suspicious.

"Well, not really. Didn't really get on anyone's nerves, kept to himself..."

'Of _course _he did,' Sherlock again considered just giving up, but the thought of Moriarty winning soon stopped that. 'I think he's purposefully giving me crappy crimes just to put me off...'

It took a few seconds to realise that he was still in conversation, but when he did Sherlock quickly got back to questioning. "Did he have anything that someone might want?"

"Err... not that I can think of, no." For a few seconds the man, apparently one of Peter's many friends, stood in thought. "Oh! There's that thing! Err... thingamajig... oh! The prize!"

A few seconds of processing later, Sherlock realised what had been said. "Prize?"

"Yeah!" The man seemed far too enthusiastic for someone who'd just realised that their friend had just died. Being overexcited at the prospect of helping solve a crime was rare, but plausible. "It was a few days ago, he won first prize in some contest. One who came second didn't look happy about it though. Said he was cheating."

"Are you sure she'd kill someone over it?" Sherlock's hopes grew at the word 'she', 'Maybe we're getting somewhere...'

"Yeah. As I said, didn't look happy. She was yelling about it for ages after. And prize was good- some opportunity to go do stuff with a celebrity or something."

"Right. Do you think you could point out the person if you saw them?" Despite the fact that this seemed like far too ropey a motive to even be viable, it _was _still possible.

Receiving a nod as a reply, Sherlock took the man's hand and dragged him off to the trashed bus, ignoring all complaints he got from him for doing this.

* * *

"Stop!" The attempt to keep Sherlock away made by those providing medical aid was in vain, as he marched, ignoring all complaints, through into the first area, where those most injured were being kept. Luckily, none of them had needed immediate hospital treatment, otherwise keeping track of them would've been difficult.

"Right. Can you see her?" Sherlock asked, turning to the man.

"Err..." He looked over the people, no recognition evident on his face. He passed over the entire set of beds, and Sherlock thought that all hope was lost until his head suddenly snapped back to someone in the corner of the room. "No... wait. Who's that over there?"

Sherlock followed his gaze and saw the woman in the corner, who was trying to cover her face. "That one?"

"Yeah. Her!" This, along with the guilty expression she was clearly unable to hide, was enough evidence to convince Sherlock.

"Right. I'm getting G... Gerald."

* * *

After being politely informed that "It's Greg!", the murderer was taken into custody and arrested. She'd confessed to the crime, saying that it had been Peter's own fault for cheating.

'A bit drastic...' Sherlock thought, looking at the woman as she was carted off. Her name was '', and in Sherlock's opinion, she was a little to mad and a little too stupid to be a successful criminal.

'Well,' Sherlock thought, getting the text cue to leave, 'Time to have a chat with Moriarty.'

* * *

"What was the point in that? It was really easy to solve!" Sherlock complained, irritated by the pointless inconvenience.

Moriarty smiled, clearly knowing what was meant despite the lack of explanation into exactly what was meant in the vague, yet questioning statement.

"Yes, but would you have known there was even a crime to solve if I hadn't told you?" Though Moriarty's words made sense, it was annoying to have to accept them from him.

"Probably." Sherlock conceded, though he couldn't help adding a defence for the police. "There'd be an investigation for sure, with the circumstances being so coincidental."

Moriarty smiled at this, probably having expected it. As usual, he had a quick response ready prepared. "Well, they mightn't have got you in on it, and then they'd never solve it, would they?"

"Well," Moriarty continued, "Off you go then." He shooed Sherlock away with a wave of his hands, then started walking away himself.

'Ah,' Sherlock thought as he walked off, ready to start following, 'Finally we can start...'

Sherlock watched as Moriarty walked off, hiding slightly behind the corner. The other suspected nothing as he got in his car, Sherlock following closely behind. 'How do I trail a car on foot?' Sherlock pondered this for a moment before deciding to take a different approach. Carefully, but quickly, he crept up behind the vehicle and attached a small device. It was more risky, and likely to be noticed, but worth it. John had to be found.

The car drove off and Sherlock smiled, watching on the screen he'd pulled out of his pocket as the dot representing Moriarty led him straight to his friends.

* * *

Sherlock approached the building with caution, taking care not to get caught. 'So close...' It was frustrating, he found, to be so close and yet so _far _from rescuing them. 'Not long now...'

He entered after quickly fiddling with the lock, pleasantly surprised to find nobody immediately in front of him. 'Lax security... clearly doesn't think anyone's going to find this place.' Sherlock stopped there when his internal laugh nearly became vocal, tension suddenly increased as he realised how close he'd been to getting caught.

When no noise was heard in response to his near slip-up, Sherlock continued- this time with more of a sense of trepidation. He moved further down towards the first door he saw, mentally cursing the fact that he hadn't had enough forethought to create a plan for when he actually got there.

'Well, no matter.' Sherlock listened outside the door, hearing nothing. 'I'm pretty good at improvisation.'

The next door was slightly open, but not enough to reveal anything to either Sherlock or anyone who may have been inside. There was a faint light escaping from it, a warm glow that showed the multitude of specks of dust dancing in the air.

Not interested in the sparkling beam, Sherlock risked opening the door a bit more. He was almost relieved to find that it was empty, realising just as he had pushed it that that would probably catch Moriarty's attention. 'Careful... don't want to get caught after getting this far.

The thought that this was potentially dangerous finally dawned on him and Sherlock almost stopped, taking a small step backwards with his thought. 'No. This is for John. It's worth it.' He reassured himself, walking more assuredly to the next door.

This one was also open, left ajar by whoever had just gone through. The observations began, and Sherlock deduced that this was probably the right one. 'Still moving slightly, used not long ago. Also observable through the doorknob, slightly greasy to indicate both recent and more regular use. The only other door on this floor that isn't visible from the outside windows, and I'd probably have heard someone walking upstairs.'

Location pinpointed, it was time to break out the improvisation mentioned previously.

And, obviously, nothing came to mind. 'Great. Perhaps just barging in the- no. That's quite clearly not going to work.' The seconds of brainstorming turned to minutes, the longer he thought for the less he was able to think. 'Gaah!' Sherlock shook his head, the amount of thought trails being created, none of which of any use, was too much to cope with.

After a few seconds of waiting to calm down, no less painful than failing to think, Sherlock tried again. 'Not much sound coming from the other side, apart from random bangs or things being set down. Whoever's in there is on the other side of the room at least, or in a separate room altogether, judging by the volume of the things I can hear...'

Deciding to sack caution and common sense, Sherlock placed a hand on the door. He slowly pushed it open, glad that at least there was no creak emitted, as was the case in many doors he'd previously encountered.

That which he found within the room was, in an understatement of quite incredible proportions, unexpected.

A table was standing alone in the middle of the room. It had only one thing on it, a small piece of paper, upon which, written in looped cursive, was: 'Your princess is in another castle!' signed by (perhaps the only thing about this that was unsurprising) 'JM'.

"What the-" Sherlock didn't get to finish the exclamation, as he was interrupted by a paper plane flying through the open door. 'He was behind me all his time? Then... he knew I was here all along too?' This realisation didn't really surprise him as much as it should have, as he supposed that, in hindsight, the entire plan had been both stupid and doomed to fail from the start.

Knowing that he had pretty much no other options, Sherlock settled for finding an escape route. With no access to windows or other doors, the way he came in was the only way out.

As the plane landed, it unfolded slightly to reveal a glimpse of ink, the same used to write on the note. It still shined slightly, indicating that it had been written recently. Sherlock bent down and picked it up, smudging the words slightly as he did.

Thankfully, (or irritatingly, if you were Sherlock) it was still legible. 'I'm amazed. Really. I never thought you'd be this _stupid!'_

It didn't need to be signed to tell him who sent this, but Moriarty had taken the liberty to do this anyway.

It was obvious that Moriarty was just behind the door, clearly waiting for him. A small part of him wanted to stay put, if only to inconvenience Moriarty, but logic won out. 'Waiting around isn't going to make him leave, and if I stick around for long enough he'll probably just go for me anyway. Best to keep away from a situation where I'm boxed in...'

Sherlock approached the door slowly, then darted forwards, yanking it open and rushing through. It was of no surprise that he was immediately met by a wall of Betsy, but that didn't do much to hinder his struggling.

"Now, now." Moriarty chastised, shaking his head slowly as he did so, "There's no point in trying to escape. Anyway, we're not going to do anything to you."

All movement ceased. Sherlock hung limply in the man's arms for a moment, not comprehending.

'Won't hurt me? But... they're supposed to make me pay for trying to- oh. Oh no. No.' Sherlock shook his head slightly in horror as he realised the implications of this, just before the true consequence of his actions was revealed.

"The same cannot be said, of course, for John."

* * *

John sat in a room. It was dark, dark enough that the only description available to him was 'dark', that or 'it's a room'. He knew he was on a chair, and he'd seen another one just before the door had slammed behind him.

He had previously been sat in a rather cramped cell with his wife, both making the most of the situation and waiting for Sherlock to come and get them. Then, he'd been taken out of the room by a tall man, who managed to completely ignore any and all interference from Mary when she kicked and screamed in protest of him having to leave.

This had been about an hour ago, and John was getting bored. Staring into the darkness wasn't the most engaging of activities, after all.

This all changed, when the door was slammed against the wall and light streamed into the room.

John squinted slightly, eyes unused to the light. After blinking away most of the bright dots blocking his vision, the person at the doorway was revealed.

Sherlock was being held by the one who had taken John previously, grabbed by the collar and looking quite similar to a kitten, dangling uselessly from their mother's jaw. 'Only he's being held, not bitten.' John thought, effectively ruining the simile he had just created.

The man marched into the room and dropped Sherlock at John's feet. He looked even more like the abandoned kitten now, and were it not for the fact that this situation was getting pretty bad, John would've laughed.

"Nice of you to drop in." He joked dryly, gaining a glare in response.

"Shut up. And stop stealing Moriarty's material." The second sentence seemed to be a peace offering, which John gladly accepted. He was about to question how Sherlock had ended up in the room with him, when a fourth person entering the room distracted him.

"Well John, you'll be glad to know that Sherlock really _does _care for you, after all." Moriarty stood in the doorway now, cutting off most of the light. While the overdramatic entrance was irritating, John appreciated the slightly darker room giving his eyes more time to adjust. "Why don't we get Sherlock to recount his adventures, though?"

At the invitation, Sherlock started to speak. "I followed Moriarty. He found me. He took me here." The explanation was plain, the lack of detail telling more about the nature of his capture than if he'd been more descriptive. A quick "sorry" was tacked onto the end, muttered so that only John could hear.

'Sorry?' The uncharacteristic politeness concerned John, 'What's Moriarty done... or what's he going to do?'

The answer to this was revealed as Moriarty spoke up again, "How disappointing. Well, I suppose that's an adequate description." Moriarty shot an accusatory glance towards Sherlock, who turned his head away slightly in response. "It's Sherlock's stupidity that you can thank for what's about to happen."

Suddenly, the sorry made much more sense.

The man, who had been stood in the corner with his arms crossed until now, walked up to Sherlock. He picked him up and placed him on a chair, tying him to it tightly. 'Ah' John realised that this was _not _going to be fun.

"Get up." Was the simple order, which John quickly obeyed. 'Best get it over with' he reasoned as he did so.

The man slapped John in the face. It was pretty light, not hurting very much, but was still enough to make Sherlock flinch and John step back slightly in pain.

John got the feeling that more of the same was to come. Causing mild pain to him, the purpose of doing so being that this ended up hurting Sherlock more than pain inflicted on himself. 'These sick bastards...' John clenched his fists in anger at the thought, but refrained from further action.

Moriarty smirked from his place in the corner, having gained the exact reaction he'd wanted. "Okay Betsy,get him where it _hurts._"

This order was carried out, but not before John let out a snort of laughter at the name the guard had been given.

He wasn't laughing when he was kneed, hard, in the groin. Rather, he ended up gasping in pain. Sherlock's reaction this time was less of a flinch and more of a violent jerk, as if he'd been the one to experience the hit.

Moriarty laughed aloud this time, enjoying the pair's pain.

As John had predicted, the proceedings continued much like this for a further hour, not varying too considerably pain-wise during any of this.

"Okay, that's enough." Moriarty called Betsy off just as he was drawing his fist back to punch John (the location of the intended destination for said fist couldn't be predicted based on hoe he drew it, but John had a feeling it was destined for his face), "I think Sherlock learnt a valuable lesson here."

With that, John was tossed over Betsy's shoulder and carted off. Sherlock was left tied to the chair, watching Moriarty as he smoothly pushed himself off the wall he'd been leaning on and approached Sherlock.

"So, are you going to try and rescue John again?"

Moriarty gained only a small head shake in response, a sure sign of a resounding success. He nodded, content in a job well done.

"Okay then, time to get you home."

* * *

Sherlock was dropped off back at his flat, the entire excursion having taken less than six hours. He stared after the car that had brought him there resentfully.

Even if he had succeeded in working out where he'd been kept with John, it was highly likely that Moriarty would locate him and Mary after this, just in case.

This was confirmed via text, as Moriarty had said:

_Sorry, don't trust you. Princesses being relocated. I'm sure I don't need to tell you not to come after us again. -JM_

Sherlock stared at the phone screen for a while and sighed. 'Well done, you managed to set yourself back even more. Great rescue attempt!' He told his thoughts to shut up, then went over to his sofa and flopped down on it, fully intending to stay there for a week, sulking.

Of course, the rest time would probably only last a few hours before someone made him get up and solve something.

'Bloody brilliant.'

* * *

**Poor Sherlock... hopefully things will start looking up for him soon.**

**Don't forget to review! (Please? It might serve as some kind of motivation...)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/n: Ahahahaha oopsy daisy...**

**Okay, so I may have ever so slightly forgotten to post anything for like a month now...**

**Uhh, yeah. Well, I finished watching pokemon, and school finished giving me assessments (but, of course, not for long...) so hopefully I'll get the next chapter to you sooner than this one?**

**Hope it's worth the wait...**

* * *

In a darkened room, a killer sharpened his instruments calmly.

This would not be his first kill, nor, he hoped, would it be his last. The thrill of the hunt and all subsequent events easily overriding the fear of capture, the killer had taken less measures than usual to evade the police. He'd taken his newest captive from their house, not bothering to stick around and get rid of his fingerprints.

Not that it mattered, as said organisation was entirely useless. In fact, they'd stopped looking for him at all, after the recent big shots in crime had made their moves and taken the country by storm. 'Even that Sherlock bloke was stumped...' he thought, slightly jealous of the infamy the criminals had gained from this.

Moriarty and Magnussen had set the bar impossibly high for aspiring crime lords, and even the police were paying them no mind. It was insulting, really.

This was why something needed to be done. That something being another murder.

'If they're not going to look for me, I'll just have to _make _them look for me!'

This in mind, the killer took the knife and turned on their latest victim.

Said victim sat on a lone chair in the middle of the room, looking round nervously. In the light of the single light bulb directly above them, it was easy to make out the terrified expression on their face. They had been sat there for a while now, having come back to consciousness just in time to see their murderer get out a knife.

"What... what are you doing?" Ah, the hesitant questioning. Something dearly missed, and the sign that this person thought that denial would spare them some time, at least.

'The poor fool. Ah well.'

The killer turned round slowly, holding the knife up with a casual air. It's shiny surface reflected the light perfectly into the victim's eyes, making them squint slightly.

"What do you think it's for? Carving meat?" The killer laughed lightly at the joke. Nervously, the victim joined in, hoping against hope that that was the case. "Well... I suppose you're not _that _far from the truth..."

He left the victim pondering that statement as he plunged the knife into their flesh. For the first time in weeks he was back at it, and he couldn't help but sigh in happiness at the scream his action elicited.

The screams would continue throughout the night, only getting louder and more pain filled, until eventually coming to a complete and abrupt stop.

"Ah, it's good to be back."

* * *

In a genuine twist of events, it was a whole day of moping before Sherlock was communicated with again.

Greg came round personally to tell him about the new case, so either it was an important one or he'd lost his phone again.

It wasn't exactly a surprise to learn that Greg indeed still had a phone in his possession.

"A serial killer has been active for weeks and you didn't think to tell me?" Sherlock was incredulous. Apparently, someone had been kidnapping people and killing them, seemingly at random. There was no connection between any of the people, all that showed that the killer was the same person was the site the bodies were found in and the way in which they'd all been killed.

The victims were found, face first and lacking all their fingers and toes, in the corner of a street directly facing the police station. If the fact that they'd yet to catch the killer in the act of dumping the bodies despite the proximity wasn't humiliating enough, each time the body had been dumped when there were officers stood all around the street, with no way of getting in or out unnoticed. Exactly how this task was even manageable seemed to baffle everyone. In fact, a few of the more superstitious members of the force had speculated that the ghosts of those killed had been dumping the bodies themselves.

"Well," Greg said at last, at least having the decency to look sheepish, "Yeah, what with the Magnussen and Moriarty situations, we all just... forgot about. Including the killer! There weren't any crimes for weeks, and the department agreed that it was because the killer had finished whatever they were trying to do..."

"Well, the department was wrong." Sherlock resisted the urge to yell at Greg for his idiocy. After having all his logic reduced to nought by the Moriarty situation, he wasn't exactly in a position to call people out on their shortcomings, anyway.

"Yes, I gathered." In an effort to prevent time-wasting due to an argument Greg refrained from tacking a sarcastic 'from the sudden increase in _dead bodies hanging _around' onto the end of the sentence.

"Okay then, I'll see what I can find." Sherlock took this as a cue to leave, not waiting to see if Greg planned on leaving his flat too.

Greg made to leave too, suddenly realising that in all the conversation, he'd forgotten to ask about John and Mary's disappearance. 'Oh well.' Greg left the building, resolving to inquire later as to their whereabouts.

* * *

Investigations got off to a slow start, with Sherlock deciding to talk to the officers before going to the street. It had been an... interesting experience thus far, mainly because most of those who were willing to talk about the killer were the ones who had the crazy theories.

Somehow Sherlock doubted that the bodies were being dumped by aliens, who had taken them all for, to quote one officer, 'the usual alien stuff'.

After requesting to talk to someone who actually knew what was going on, most of the theorists had taken offense and left, muttering about rude detectives as they went. Making the correct assumption that none would be returning any time soon, Sherlock had had no choice but to go and find someone himself.

This led him straight into the current predicament: who actually knew anything useful?

It seemed that apart from Greg, (who hadn't even followed Sherlock to the station, leaving his whereabouts unknown) nobody had heard anything other than rumours.

Sherlock knew a fruitless search when he saw one, so he instead opted for switching to what was originally to be the second stage of the investigation: the crime scene.

* * *

Of course, the street wasn't really the scene of the crime; just another way of getting to it.

For all intents and purposes, it was a regular street. The only thing out of the ordinary here was that there were several police officers positioned at various points along it.

No bodies had been found since a few days ago, and it had long since been removed. The body, apparently, had come with a message. A piece of paper tucked into their clothes, with only a typed out taunt of 'Come and get me' adorned on it. Although it spoke nothing of the location of the crimes or the identity of the one committing them, it did reveal that the killer was an attention seeker.

Apart from this, there was nothing to be discovered from the street. It seemed that to work out where the bodies had come from, Sherlock would have to visit the morgue.

Before giving up on the street entirely, Sherlock made a quick check around for possible weak spots in the surveying team's vision and any subsequent ways to access the street unnoticed.

He managed to find eight ways to complete this 'impossible' task with just a simple glance.

* * *

The morgue was the first location that had any amount of convenience attached, evidence-wise. Finally, there was a place that could provide actual answers.

The first body was the last to be found, that of a middle aged man. He'd been killed a few days ago, likely a maximum of an hour before his body was deposited. This revealed quite obviously the possible range of the killer's location; not many places were both within an hours distance and an ideal location for a kidnapping.

Sherlock had checked some of the other victims, and the reports had all said much the same. There weren't any obvious connections between them all, at least not any to be found without digging into their pasts more thoroughly. Deciding against going into that unless definitely necessary, Sherlock started a more detailed look at the latest body.

A further look at the body revealed some new things. Namely, that whoever had been doing this was quite good at covering their tracks. The body contained no prints, and as each appendage had been hacked off using a knife, there wasn't anything of note to learn about the weapon, either. 'If a gun had been used...' Sherlock thought, inwardly cursing the lack of new evidence. Hopefully, there'd be something else that would provide insight into the case.

The clothing turned out to be the useful insight-giver, as all the pairs of shoes had a common factor: the type of mud on them. Sherlock scraped some off each shoe and put it under a microscope to check, and found that indeed, each mud sample originated from the same place. Judging from the contents of the mud, they were all from an area not far from the Thames. This would be quite useless if not from the earlier discovery that the site had to be close to the station. Instead, the location was whittled down to one of three places: a warehouse, which had been unused for some time; a block of flats scheduled to be knocked down next month, or an underground bunker recently discovered that seemed to belong to _someone, _though who that was or what it was used for was as yet unclear.

Now, Sherlock had to work out which of the three it was, using some as yet unfound evidence. Or, alternatively, he could just bust into each place, starting with the warehouse, and just see which one held the killer.

Despite the fact that the latter would prove to be a long and convoluted way of going about it, this was the method Sherlock chose. 'I'd have to go out and look at the sites eventually,' He justified, setting off to put his plan into action. 'Anyway, I'd better call Gary...'

* * *

The journey to the warehouse had been a short one. It had been chosen first based on proximity, and that it was within easy walking distance.

He'd arrived and got through the gates with relative ease. The security seemed lax at best, if the lack of guards or security cameras was anything to go by. In fact, there had only been one security camera so far, and it was in clear view. A closer look had proven that it wasn't even turned on.

It was times like this that Sherlock wondered how the police even managed to function without him, if they failed to locate and infiltrate a building with as little security as this. Then again, this was the same police that had managed to 'forget' a serial killer, so not much was really going to surprise him as far as incompetence went anymore.

Reminding himself that not everyone could have the brains he did, Sherlock continued on his way to the entrance. It was a short journey, which ended with him hesitantly going for the closed door.

Closed, but not locked, as it turned out. This was taking the 'lax' a bit too far. Suspicion heightened, Sherlock took the time for a quick glance round before proceeding. He found nothing, but still entered the warehouse with caution.

Sherlock was but three steps into the building when the inevitable happened. Hearing footsteps behind him, Sherlock spun round, only to find himself with a face full of old rag. He had time only to think 'Damn, twice in a week on the receiving end of a good kidnapping.' before the darkness overtook him.

* * *

Sherlock came to slowly, mind still sluggish from the effects of whatever had been used to knock him out in the first place. He could feel _something _around his wrists and a quick wiggle of said limbs revealed that, yes, they were bound together with rope.

Whether they were attached to the chair he was slumped in was as yet unclear, but judging from the way he hadn't fallen off yet, it was a safe bet to say that they were.

"Ah, good to see you awake," A voice sounded, the source of which was unclear. Sherlock raised his head and watched as the blurry figure of a man came into view.

'About 6 feet tall, self-assured, bit of a prick.' Sherlock's mind supplied, the last part proof that he wasn't quite awake yet.

"Can't say the same. I assume you're the one who's been going around killing people?" Sherlock took in more details of the room. Clearly, this was where all the victims were taken. It had the atmosphere of a typical villain's lair, something probably done to get a response of fear out of the ones taken there.

'So, he truly is one for the theatrics.' In Sherlock's opinion, he was just trying too hard.

"Yes, that was my work. I noticed you, trying to work out who I was. You know, it would have been much better if you'd just given up before, then I wouldn't have to kill you."

At this, Sherlock couldn't help but scoff. "Of course you will, yes. Because you'll be able to do what even Magnussen, even _Moriarty _couldn't, using what? A bad villain stereotype?"

Said bad villain growled at this. For a moment, he allowed himself to slip out of control and act purely on his anger. This was bad news for Sherlock, who received a fist to the face for his troubles.

"Well, that got off to a bad start. I'll try again. I'm Peter Woodson. You're Sherlock Holmes." The now-named man smiled slightly, now calm again.

The inevitable sarcastic reply was held back, with the knowledge that further provoking would only serve to increase Peter's anger and potentially make him go for the kill quicker. Until Sherlock could find a way out, the only thing to do was attempt a distraction.

Naturally, the best course of action when placating people is to lash out, and this was exactly what Sherlock did.

It actually had a logical thought process behind it, Sherlock reasoned while he eyed up Peter, making note of the best place to get him. Although it would only incapacitate the man for at most a few seconds, that was all Sherlock needed.

As predicted, the relatively violent kick was not the best method of peace-keeping. It was however much more incapacitating than first imagined, as Sherlock's foot made a chance connection between Peter's legs. This gave Sherlock the time needed to start putting further details of his hasty plan into action.

He jumped up, still attached to the chair. This meant that 'stood up' meant bent over awkwardly in an attempt to see directly in front, but it would suffice. For now.

Next on the agenda was to get the damned chair off, so Sherlock used his ballet skills to perform an impeccable spin, breaking the chair against the wall as he did so. The action nearly sent him sprawling, but a well timed foot placed a metre in front stopped that.

All that was left now was to untie the rope, but that would have to wait. Mr Evil-Villain-Stereotype had recovered from the hit and was about to try and control the situation. 'Should've slammed the chair on him.' Sherlock berated himself, now out of time yet not quite finished in escaping.

Peter glared at Sherlock, breathing heavily. Sherlock returned the gesture, but managed to retain his composure as he straightened up, cold gaze not wavering as they both locked in intense eye contact.

The dramatic moment was ruined when Sherlock's phone rang.

"Ah," he said with falsified embarrassment, "Could I just get that? Might be important."

Not waiting for the inevitable 'no' in response, Sherlock retrieved the phone from his pocket. He was only slightly hindered by the tied wrists, but it was significantly harder (though still possible, of course) to answer the call. He put it on speaker, unable to adequately hold it beside his ear.

"Hello?" Sherlock spoke. He hadn't bothered to check the caller ID beforehand, but he could make a good guess as to who it was.

"Hi Sherlock." Came the response from the other end. It seemed that Greg was calling, as expected. 'Great timing. This situation's really looking up now.'

"And it's 'bout bloody time too," Sherlock complained. "I assume you're ready?" This question gained a glance from Peter, who had so far failed to make a move towards stopping his misbehaving captive due to the surprise of recent events.

Greg responded with a positive "Whenever you are!", only serving to heighten Peter's confusion. 'Should I stop him?' He thought, 'What's he even on about though? And why hasn't he mentioned his capture yet?'

Sherlock smirked slightly at the confirmation. "Fine. Come up now then, shouldn't be too hard to find." He challenged, knowing full well that neither speaker knew he exact location he was in.

"What, no instructions?" Greg asked jokingly. 'Ah, he hasn't realised yet. Well, no time like the present to tell him.' Sherlock thought.

"I was unconscious for the duration of my trip to the room, as you could've guessed. Now quit complaining and come and arrest this guy." Sherlock's words caused a slight lull in the conversation in which Greg mumbled irritably to himself about Sherlock's uselessness, a pause which Peter took full advantage of.

"I'm sorry, what?" Peter interrupted the call, glancing confusedly between the phone and Sherlock. "Who's that, and what do you mean 'arrest this guy'?"

Sherlock stared at Peter for a while, then blinked. "Ah, yes. You don't know you see, Gary here-"

"Greg." The explanation was cut off by a correction from over the phone, which Sherlock ignored.

"Yes, whatever. He's coming to rescue me now."

Another interruption came in the form of a teasing joke, "Think damsel in distress. Only with more arresting."

Choosing to ignore the damsel jab, Sherlock continued. "So as you can surely appreciate, I don't have time to stick around and chat, really."

"What." Peter stared blankly at Sherlock, mind reeling. 'He... he has a plan! Well, I certainly didn't count on that one. Uhh, what to do now...'

"I just told you, you're getting arrested. Keep up! Anyway, I have things to do, so-" Sherlock carried on in a chipper manner, smirking at the ease with which he ha managed to thoroughly confound his captor. 'So much for evil villain. Well, I suppose that makes me the hero'

"But I just trapped you!" For his next trick, Peter decided upon complete and utter denial of Sherlock's words, "No one knows you're here, you've only been here for a few hours tops, how would the police have arrived so quickly?"

"You actually thought I'd be stupid enough to just barge in here without calling for backup first?" If he had any less self control, Sherlock would've been laughing by this point.

The phone chimed in in the background, informing the two that Greg had hung up and presumably begun the hunt for his errant consulting detective.

* * *

Over with the search party of one, things were going well. The building was one of simple design, with one corridor that ran down the middle and several other rooms that branched off but weren't connected to anything. At the end there was another door, this one leading to a staircase.

The logical approach seemed to be to open all of the doors with reckless abandon until the correct one was found. Or something of that nature, anyway.

After common sense chimed in to remind him that that was only a good way to run into some guards, Greg chose a new plan. Listen carefully, and eventually Sherlock's condescending tone would grace his ears to show him the way.

This plan was one with a much higher success rate, so Greg set off on his way down the school-esque hallway, ears pricked in concentration.

He got down the whole room and onto the staircase, one of an ugly yet practical design, before hearing anything. 'I was right,' Greg thought, not sure whether to celebrate or sigh, 'can't miss that voice.'

* * *

"Well..." Peter looked genuinely confused now, "You did it when you were with Moriarty, so.." he trailed off, sounding mildly embarrassed.

"And of course, you assumed that I'm incapable of learning from the most obvious mistakes?"

Peter opened his mouth slightly, seemingly about to comment. He thought better of it for a second, then soldiered on anyway, managing an indignant "I-". Eventually, he decided on stopping that sentence too. After a few moments filled with Peter making several conflicted expressions, he settled for an irritated sigh.

By this point, his logical options were limited to 'give up', or 'give up'. So naturally Peter decided not to take the logical option. He thumped Sherlock in the stomach, getting a clear shot as the detective's wrists were still bound, then made a dash for the door. Unsurprisingly, he only made it to the doorway before he had a close encounter with a non-too-impressed Greg, who stood cross-armed and blocking the entrance.

"And..." Sherlock spoke, still doubled over from the hit, "You thought... Gavin wouldn't surround you? What part of coming to arrest you... don't you get?"

The irritably muttered "It's Greg" was ignored by all.

The next thing Greg did was considerably less ignored. He handcuffed Peter, taking him by the arms in preparation to exit the building. It was redundant to remind Peter that he was under arrest, but Greg did it anyway, only just managing to keep the satisfaction out of his voice when speaking the well-rehearsed words.

Next he answered Sherlock's unvoiced request, coming over and removing the rope from his outstretched arms. He left Sherlock rubbing his freed limbs and returned to the criminal, who had failed to react to being left chance to run. Not that it would've changed anything, as the sound of the sirens that reverberated around the building reminded him.

As Greg and Peter began their descent to the waiting police cars, Sherlock took one last look round the room. It was when he did this that he noticed something strange in the room. Unlike the rest of the cluttered space, there was one area which had been kept almost obsessively tidy.

Sherlock approached the corner, curiosity and duty to investigate overriding the hesitation leaving him slightly unwilling to discover what would be found there. For all intents and purposes, it seemed to be just an average corner, but something was still off. No one put in the amount of effort that Peter had into making his lair a uniform mess and then just left an empty space.

Sherlock crouched a few centimetres away from the offending space, resting his hands on his knees as he did so. Being closer to the ground, new details became visible. Namely, the dirt on the floor - or lack thereof. 'So, there's usually something covering it, so there must be...'

True to Sherlock's predictions, there was something hidden there. Running his hand over the floor, Sherlock noticed the slight indent in the wood that, upon being pressed down, revealed a small hole, barely big enough to fit the crumpled papers untidily folded in order to get them inside.

Sherlock grabbed them and shoved them hurriedly into his coat pocket, and had just managed to replace the popped-out panel when Greg's head appeared round the door frame.

"Hey, you coming?" He called out, slightly startled when unable to see the detective, "What're you doing down there?"

"Oh, nothing" Sherlock said as he straightened up. Something gave him the impression that whatever was on those papers would be of more use to him if no one else knew about them, and he decided to act on that instinct.

As he followed Greg out of the room, Sherlock failed to notice the red light pulsing in the opposite corner of the room.

* * *

Sherlock slammed the door on the way back into his flat.

Having had a chance to rewind on the cab journey back from his latest kidnapping debacle, Sherlock had realised that he had managed to once again waste an entire day, not even _trying _to solve his problems with Moriarty. 'Might as well just hand the friend of the year award over to me right now.' He thought sarcastically, thoughts turning to John, still kidnapped.

It occurred to Sherlock, that perhaps he wouldn't be getting _any _kind of friendship awards, or even having anyone to be in a friendship with for that matter, if he didn't find John soon. The thought unnerved him a bit, so he turned his attention back to the paper he'd discovered and pulled it out to examine it.

Or at least he would've done that, had Greg not taken it upon himself to make a most inconveniently timed arrival just at this point.

"Hello," Sherlock said in his best casual tone, hoping to conceal the slight jump he'd made when Greg had entered. He retracted his hand from the papers and cursed his bad luck. 'Well, there goes that prospect.'

If Greg had noticed the lapse in control, he didn't mention it. Instead, he approached Sherlock silently. It wasn't until his face came into view and the expression on it was revealed that Sherlock realised the purpose of the visit.

'Well, shit.'

The expression was one of deep thought, with just enough concern for Sherlock to recognise where this was heading.

"Hello," Greg responded at last, now stood what would be face to face with Sherlock, were the other man to sacrifice his position on the armchair.

When no such move was made, Greg took the initiative and sat down. There followed an awkward few seconds in which Greg prepared mentally what he was going to say.

"What's wrong?" A rather blunt approach was taken to the issue, leaving Sherlock little room to weasel his way out of a direct response.

"Nothing," He said without conviction. The reply only served to make Greg sigh, pulling a hand up to drag it slowly across his face in frustration.

"That's bullshit and you know it." Greg ditched civility altogether and looked Sherlock in the eye as he continued, "Look. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the fact that John's been gone for a while now. Figured you'd had a bit of a fall out, so I'd give you some space. But, seeing as you haven't the maturity to handle it yourselves, I-"

"You _figured _wrong." It wasn't until the scathing words had left him that Sherlock realised his mistake. If he'd let Greg believe it was a disagreement, maybe he would've been able to get him to back off, but now?

"What?" The word was said in an almost angry tone, the speaker shocked and a little bit put out by the revelation.

'No going back now' Sherlock realised regretfully.

"Yes, you heard right. This isn't an argument." Before the obvious next question could be asked, Sherlock continued.

"Actually," He spoke conversationally, "John was kidnapped by Moriarty. Been gone for a while now, Mary too. Bit surprised it took you so long to notice, if I'm honest."

There was another long and uncomfortable moment as Greg processed the new information. Eventually, he decided to just sigh and rub his face again.

"And you didn't think to tell me about this _why, _exactly?"

Sherlock felt much like a child, being lectured by their parents on something oh-so-obvious to the high and mighty adults, who didn't even know the situation. So, it was only right that he should react like one of those children.

"Ah, yes. Of course, why didn't I think of that before? It's not like Moriarty _threatened me in case I did exactly that, is it?_"

For the amount of venom packed into the sentence, it was mildly surprising that Greg failed to be even the slightest bit impressed or taken aback. In fact, all he did in the way of response was say a dry: "And of course this has stopped you all the time in the past."

Sherlock didn't respond. Greg had a point there. Usually, he'd probably just ignore what anyone said. This time though, reacting in the wrong way could bring about the end of John. Really, Sherlock wouldn't quite put it past Moriarty to get bored and kill him anyway, though it would mean losing control of Sherlock, something the previously mentioned detective was certain that Moriarty didn't want to let happen.

"I'm taking the lack of response to mean 'Ah yes, Greg. I have now seen the error of my ways and realised what an idiot I am.'" Greg ended the silence before it could stretch to the point of awkwardness.

"You know I'd probably call you Gertrude." Sherlock responded, not allowing Greg the upper hand in sarcastic remarks. It caused the detective to scowl for a moment before returning to the serious talk.

"Yes, well. You _have _been a bit of an idiot, really. And now we're all in a ridiculous situation with no clear way out of it."

"Yes, and it was _so _much worse before, obviously." Sherlock hadn't quite got over the whole 'I know you're hiding something' part of the conversation yet.

Greg blinked, trying to come up with a good response to the remark. Finding none, he sighed and stood up.

"If you aren't going to contribute to this, then I won't bother talking to you." was the explanation given as he walked out of the room.

'Good riddance' Sherlock thought, secretly not at all relieved to see Greg leave yet unwilling to admit it even to himself.

It was a good few seconds before Sherlock realised exactly what had just happened, then another before the shouted expletives rang throughout 221B.

* * *

**Yup. Well, that certainly happened. Tune in next time to find out what's going down with the papers and lights and what I'm even doing with the plot anymore 'cos I sure as heckie don't know...**

**And a few (hundred thousand) reviews wouldn't go amiss, either!**


End file.
